Dico+

I think: I would like to take N back to a story right now, like a rake.

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Suzanne Finnamore

For me, it´s sloth," I say. "Hedonistic sloth and escapism.

By Suzanne Finnamore

It had all seemed as inevitable as sunset. Instead it was the beauty of the sun glinting upon the scythe.

By Suzanne Finnamore

I feel incendiary, a wildfire. My spirit licks at the gates of a very elaborate, customized, and distracting emotional Hades.

By Suzanne Finnamore

I´ve blown it, the whole grisly charade.

By Suzanne Finnamore

I know my vision is impaired and cannot be trusted with even the simplest tasks, much less dating. Not that I´ve come within talon distance of a man.

By Suzanne Finnamore

I review what I know once again, confronting the monolith now alien and almost unconnected to me: my marriage.

By Suzanne Finnamore

Conversely, I though humiliation would be everything, but it´s such a nothing.

By Suzanne Finnamore

The real genesis is forbidden to me, vis-à-vis N´s inability to confess even the mildest transgressions.

By Suzanne Finnamore

Flannel shirts should be outlawed for ex husbands; I realize this now. Flannel shirts are to women what crotchless panties are to men.

By Suzanne Finnamore

The abandonment came, and now this shabby bacchanal.

By Suzanne Finnamore

Yes. THANK YOU. And say hello to Judas Iscariot.

By Suzanne Finnamore

How could you do that to me?" I repeat. I don´t have to itemize. He knows what I speak of.

By Suzanne Finnamore

I am replete with stamina in finding out every single fact I can about this whole affair.

By Suzanne Finnamore

This people know where their husbands are. I would like to vomit. I would like to vomit my soul out.

By Suzanne Finnamore

How can I grieve what is still in motion?" I ask her. "Shoes are still dropping all over the place. I´m not kidding," I say. "It´s Normandy out there.

By Suzanne Finnamore

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Applications

For me, it´s sloth," I say. "Hedonistic sloth and escapism.

It had all seemed as inevitable as sunset. Instead it was the beauty of the sun glinting upon the scythe.

I feel incendiary, a wildfire. My spirit licks at the gates of a very elaborate, customized, and distracting emotional Hades.

I´ve blown it, the whole grisly charade.

I know my vision is impaired and cannot be trusted with even the simplest tasks, much less dating. Not that I´ve come within talon distance of a man.

I review what I know once again, confronting the monolith now alien and almost unconnected to me: my marriage.

Conversely, I though humiliation would be everything, but it´s such a nothing.

The real genesis is forbidden to me, vis-à-vis N´s inability to confess even the mildest transgressions.

Flannel shirts should be outlawed for ex husbands; I realize this now. Flannel shirts are to women what crotchless panties are to men.

The abandonment came, and now this shabby bacchanal.

Yes. THANK YOU. And say hello to Judas Iscariot.

How could you do that to me?" I repeat. I don´t have to itemize. He knows what I speak of.

I am replete with stamina in finding out every single fact I can about this whole affair.

This people know where their husbands are. I would like to vomit. I would like to vomit my soul out.

How can I grieve what is still in motion?" I ask her. "Shoes are still dropping all over the place. I´m not kidding," I say. "It´s Normandy out there.